


Down the Line

by Tobyaudax



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Past Relationship(s), Post-Break Up, and a little one-sided vague attraction thrown in later, and a smattering of super minor OCs as well, everyone listed now are the core players, i'll tag more characters as they show up, seriously though- yamcha never could have cheated on bulma, she was his world
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 10:26:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11289360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tobyaudax/pseuds/Tobyaudax
Summary: A chronicle of Bulma and Yamcha's break-up, glossing over Bulma and Vegeta getting together (because everybody and their sick aunt has written one of those), and eventually ending on everyone being okay with each other. Spoilers?





	1. I See Problems Down the Line

**Author's Note:**

> Another song title for a title, Tobias? Yeesh.  
> This one comes from Jose Gonzales; you can listen here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IbBIhiweYDE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Bulma is wrong and she knows it.

**Decembre, 764**

She never told him what he had done wrong. Every fight, every disagreement,  _every time_ , all she did was yell. Or occasionally throw things. This time, when he tried to comfort her, to understand what had happened, she slapped him. It didn't hurt, physically, but the emotional wound almost took his breath away. He trusted her, _loved_ her, wanted to spend his life with her- and she slapped him and hissed that he couldn't touch her.

"What did I do?" Yamcha practically whined. "Why- I don't understand. Why are you so mad?"

Bulma glared at him, her eyes shining, on the verge of tears. She gripped her upper arms tight, her nails disappearing into the sleeves of her blouse.

"If you don't know, I'm  _not_  going to tell you," she growled.

It was an answer he heard often. Yamcha could be forgetful, true, but he wasn't sure why monthly anniversaries were so important. He bought a pocket calendar years ago, recording everything of note in their relationship. But some of the dates were subject to change, depending on Bulma's moods. Like their one month anniversary of their getting back together after a particularly nasty fight. Bulma had said the date was days later than the one Yamcha had recorded because, "you didn't get me an apology present until that weekend".

This time, as it was most of the time, Yamcha really had no idea what had set his girlfriend off. He wracked his brain, searched his memory for some date he'd missed, an invention for which he'd failed to properly laud her, but he came up with nothing. He hadn't been away very long- he didn't expect he could improve much to fight the cyborgs, so he'd come back to Capsule Corporation after several weeks; two months, at most. But maybe something had happened in those weeks he'd missed. Something for which he should have been there. He didn't have an answer and Bulma was crying angry, messy tears.

"Bulma," he choked, the sight of her unhappiness as painful to him as it must be for her. "Please, hon, tell me what to do- what I did. I'm sorry! I'm so,  _so sorry!_ "

He reached for her again, determined to hold her, pull her into his arms and get to the root of the problem. Yamcha grabbed her hands and held them tight when she struggled. Her nails dug into him as she tugged but he didn't release her. Bulma continued to cry, but her eyes through the tears took on a mournful sheen. He dropped to his knees in front of her, begging silently for her to talk to him, to let him in. She looked down at him and her quiet sobs grew silent.

"It's me," she whispered. "It's not- this time, hell, a- a lot of the time. It wasn't- you didn't do  _anything_ , babe. It's me. I'm- oh, Yamcha.  _Oh honey I'm sorry_ -"

More tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks, black mascara trails cleaving her smudged blush. Yamcha stared up at her, his mouth open, shocked. Bulma was  _never_  wrong, never at fault. She was wrong _ed_ , certainly, but she was never the reason for their fights, for their break-ups. At least, that's what she'd always told him. And told their friends, when they'd asked. To an extent, he was used to the tears. Not immune- they certainly still hurt him- but he expected them. He could handle them. An apology, though, an admission that  _she'd_  been the one to screw up: that was new. And it was terrifying.

"Wait- what do you-" Yamcha paused, swallowed the thick lump that had formed in his throat and licked his lips. "You are- I'm sorry, what? What are you- what are you saying."

Bulma hiccupped as she choked back another sob. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head from side to side. The longer she took to explain, the more horrible the possibilities in Yamcha's imagination became. Oh god- had she murdered someone? Had she… had she gone out and found Dr. Gero and killed him? It had been the first solution she'd offered up and it would be just like her to take such a matter into her own hands. One of her favourite sayings had always been, "If you want something done, do it yourself."

"Bulma, honey," he cajoled, voice shaking. "Sweetie, look at me. Why… why do you… Why are you sorry?"

It took another few minutes for her to finally respond and Yamcha wasn't certain he heard her correctly- she had tucked her chin down and hunched her shoulder as she muttered, "I cheated on you."

Well that couldn't be what she said! Sure, she was always accusing him of looking at other girls (and she was always wrong). But it would be… ironic? if she had actually been the one to cheat. She was clearly upset and Yamcha was freaking out so he just had to ask her again. Calm her down and ask again- that was a good plan.

"I didn't- I don't think I got that. Here, c'mere and sit down." He caught her hands gently and pulled her to the big sofa in Capsule Corps' living room. She let him lead her, sinking down into the plush cushion and then scooting over to put half a meter between them. "You stay right here, okay? I'm gonna get you some water and we'll talk. Alright? Okay, good."

He hurried into the kitchen, fumbling in the cupboard for glasses and briefly considered bringing alcohol instead. But he didn't want her accusing him of trying to get her drunk. Yamcha filled both glasses with ice and splashed water over the chips before rushing back out to sit a respectful distance away, stretching his arm out to hand her the cup. He didn't touch his own drink, instead watching her take slow sips and then chew morosely on the ice chips.

"It just… happened," she finally said, sounding more tired than he'd ever heard her. "I'd been keeping an eye on him and, okay, yeah, he's always _such_ an _asshole_. To me, to everyone. But… he started kinda, I don't know, letting his guard down. I knew- from the moment I saw him here, I _knew_ \- there was… this… sadness, in him. Past the anger, past the dickish comments and that stupid, fucking pride."

The longer she spoke, the colder Yamcha became. There was only one person she could be talking about. He suddenly didn't want to hear anymore; he no longer wanted to know what had upset her so badly. He could beg and grovel and scrap the last of his money together and buy her something spectacular and they would pretend the whole thing hadn't happened. He could offer to finally have sex with her! That would do it-!

"I slept with Vegeta," the flat words fell from her lips. It was a statement, devoid of emotion but carrying so much weight that Yamcha almost fell off the couch.

"It has been chilly the past couple nights," Yamcha chuckled lamely. The glass he held started vibrating; the ice clinking so rapidly that it melted. Cold water spilled over his hand and he had to set the cup on the floor, his movements stiff and jerking.

"…I… We had… sex. Oh god, I haven't said anything- I haven't said it out loud yet. We… we fucked, Yamcha. He was _awful_ but we fucked and I'm sorry. God, I'm _sorry_ but I'm not- I'm not _really_ sorry! _I'm sorry for not being sorry_!"

She erupted into tears again, dropping her face into her free hand, the glass dangling from the other. Yamcha watched his arm reach out and take it from her, setting it gently on the coffee table. As an afterthought, he picked up his own glass and set it next to hers- each one on a coaster, of course. He watched her cry for the third time in an hour and felt himself growing numb. An increasingly small part of him wanted to put his arms around her, pull her against his chest and stroke her hair. He wanted to whisper soothing nonsense to her, let her know it was going to be okay.

_It's okay that you slept with another man. We're going to be okay, you'll see. We'll get past this little roadblock and be an even stronger couple!_

But he didn't move. He stayed where he was, hands folded in his lap, and stared at his girlfriend as she sobbed into her hands. Their new two year anniversary was tomorrow and he wasn't sure if he should still give her the necklace he'd purchased for the occasion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ouch. I don't normally think Bulma is such a jerk, but I feel like she's the kind of person who doesn't know what to do when she screws up. Like, she doesn't often think she's in the wrong. But she done fucked up pretty bad this time and is decent enough to know it'd be mean as hell to not only keep Yamcha in the dark, but also to string him along.
> 
> Fun fact: I wrote half of this chapter about... five years ago. It just sat in my Drafts over on tumblr for a very long time. Then, one day, I was looking it over and got slapped with inspiration to finish it. ...And then it snowballed into a series of sorts, with vague notes and no real ending in mind, just yet.
> 
> Kudos are great and comments are basically my life's blood.


	2. I Know He's Not Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby Trunks is born! Guess who's not there for it!

**Two Years Later (Age 766)**

_Of course_ Vegeta wasn't in the room when his child was being born! The prick wasn't even in the hospital! God only knew if he was even back on the fucking _planet!_ Yamcha stood on one side of the bed, Bulma's hand gripped tightly- but not too tightly- in his. Her water had broken hours ago and he'd immediately scooped her up and flown her to Wukong Hospital. She screamed, cursed and hit him the entire time but he remained externally calm. He reminded her of her breathing exercises- he'd been the only one around to go to Lamaze classes with her- while inside he wanted to both vomit and then piss himself.

Fortunately, she hadn't gone into labour early- she was right on time. As nurses got her into a bed and rushed her to the maternity wing, Yamcha filled out the remaining paperwork and was outfitted with drab, green scrubs. He kept pace with the doctor as they rushed to her room, the doctor absently filling him in on the procedure and what would be required of him. He really only heard some of it, his thoughts seething with rage at the rotten, evil little troll that had not only done this to Bulma, but hadn't been there for her even _one second_ since she'd taken the pregnancy test.

She was in labour for seven hours and Yamcha was proud to say that he hadn't fainted once. He stood by her side the entire time; letting her try to crush his hand, letting her curse him and Vegeta, equally, and listening to her scream louder than he'd ever heard her scream before. When the baby had finally been pushed free, Yamcha was given the scissors to cut the umbilical cord. He let himself forget that the child wasn't his, that Bulma wasn't his, that the entire experience had nothing to do with him.

The doctor and nurses all called him "dad" and "papa" and he never once corrected them. Bulma was either too drugged or exhausted by that point to bother, as well. And when they asked him the baby's name, the little boy with the tiniest lock of purple hair and the bluest eyes anyone had ever seen, he answered easily, proudly, "Trunks." Because Bulma had told him all the names she wanted for both a boy and a girl, and he had helped her narrow them down to Trunks and Bra. A nurse scribbled the name onto her clipboard and recorded a few more notes before gently taking Trunks from him and setting him in Bulma's arms.

"He's so tiny," she rasped, voice nearly gone. "Yamcha look at him- he's the smallest guy in the whole world!"

"None smaller," Yamcha agreed, pulling up a chair on the opposite side of her to lean over the bed. "I've- I mean, we've never really seen a baby up close. Look at his _hands!_ "

"Oh my god- the _fingers!_ _His bitty wittle fingers!_ I just wanna eat him up!" Bulma chortled and then coughed into her shoulder.

Yamcha was on his feet in an instant, snatching the cup of ice from one of the nurses and carefully placing two small cubes into Bulma's mouth. She smiled tiredly up at him and he felt his heart break all over again.

It had been surprisingly easy to forget that they weren't together anymore the past nine months. With Vegeta storming off into space like a stupid child, Yamcha had been one of the only people around for her. Her mother was a nigh constant presence, of course, and her father checked in often- when he wasn't out buying every conceivable toy, crib and safety device. But Yamcha was always there.

When she called him to tell him she was pregnant, he hadn't hesitated to pack a bag and fly over to Capsule Corps. Puar had tried to stop him, throwing as many things out of his duffel as he tossed in. "She left you, Yamcha! She cheated and is having another man's baby! This isn't your problem! Let her have the stupid mutt all by herself!"

He'd tuned his best friend's words out; not even angry at the variety of names Puar had called Bulma, Vegeta and their unborn child (though he’d silently agreed with every word the shape-shifter had to say about the Saiyan). Bulma said she needed him, so he went. On his way over and in the following months, he managed to convince himself that things could be patched up between them. As he watched Bulma's belly grow and with every new ultrasound photo, he lied to himself that the child didn't have to come _from_ him to be _his_. He'd always wanted a family and he finally had one. That was all that had mattered. That was what had kept him happy and sane.

But now it was over. Bulma bounced the tiny baby in her arms and cooed at him and all Yamcha could see was the slant of his eyes, the way his eyebrows were just a little lower, making the child look angry even as he smiled vacantly up at his mother. Yamcha was not- and would never be- his father.

The nurse who had taken Trunks' name now took him back, letting Bulma and "papa" know that they all needed to rest. Bulma's arms followed the child, staying outstretched until he'd left the room, and then falling limply to the bed. Quiet tears stained her cheeks and Yamcha had never seen her look so breathtakingly beautiful.

"You, uh, get some rest," he muttered, slowly backing towards the door. "I'll be, uhm, out in the lobby. Just let one of the nurses know, and I'll, y'know, I'll come back. If you need me."

"He's coming back," Bulma said. She waited until he finally looked at her before continuing, "Vegeta will be back. He's got a lot of training to do, but he'll want to see his son. He'll want to be with me."

"Keep telling yourself that." Yamcha regretted the bitter words as soon as he said them. His face fell and he reached out as if to take them back, but it was too late. Bulma didn't seem fazed, though. She didn't look upset. She just smiled sadly at him.

"Thank you, Yamcha. I couldn't- there's no way I could've done this without you."

He nodded curtly and turned on his heels as fast as he could, pushing through the door and rushing out into the hall. He didn't stop moving when he got to the lobby. He didn't take the scrubs off as he made his way out of the hospital. He didn't wipe away his tears on the flight back home, to his place in the desert. He didn't even feel that bad that he'd lied to her for the first time- he wouldn't be going back to the hospital. He wouldn't be there if she needed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At some point, things will get better for Yamcha. I do feel bad for beating him up so much, but I like to think it'll make the good times to come even nicer.


	3. Don't Wash the Dirt Off of Your Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yamcha is a glutton for punishment. Everyone loves babies, right? And Vegeta finally makes an appearance! Kind of.

**Summer, 767**

"He's gonna do it- watch him, he's totally gonna- _aah! There he goes!_ Yamcha, _look!_ "

Yamcha was already looking and winced at Bulma's shriek as Trunks took his first steps. He'd had the camera ready all day and started filming the moment the baby pulled himself upright against the lawn chair. He kept the lens focused on Trunks as the first step became a second, third, fourth and on into an unsteady stroll. Within a few minutes, it was as though he'd been walking all along.

"He's a natural," he laughed, turning the camera off as Trunks reached his destination- Yamcha. He set the camera down and scooped the baby up, tossing him into the air with a whoop of delight. "You did it, little man! You'll be running and then driving in no time!"

"Ha ha, shut up, babe," Bulma yelled. She was smiling, but there was a tightness around her eyes. Yamcha knew a similar look was on his own face- Trunks was growing up so fast! Neither one had thought he'd walk so soon! For someone who had died before, the baby's first steps, the proof that he would, indeed, get older, was a bittersweet reminder of Yamcha's own mortality.

They were both still riding the high of Trunks' first steps that they didn't notice or realize immediately Bulma's use of her old pet name for him. It registered with Yamcha a second before Bulma and he set Trunks down, his face flush, but his body cold. Bulma coughed and sat down in the grass, heedless of her white pants and beckoning Trunks to her. He obliged, toddling back the way he'd come on legs that didn't seem as sure. Yamcha watched her grab the baby when he got within range, the two of them screaming with laughter as she tickled him and blew raspberries on his exposed tummy.

Their friends liked to say motherhood hadn't changed Bulma one bit; that she was as headstrong and reckless as ever, but they weren't looking close enough. They didn't spend most of every day with her, so how could they really know? They didn't see the subtle darkness under her eyes or the faint wrinkles around her mouth. No one else noticed that most of her shirts were stained with various foods and fluids or that she didn't notice, either. Even her parents didn't know she cried herself to sleep some nights. Yamcha heard her often through the baby monitor.

She was mostly happy, though. She loved Trunks and she really was a good mother. But she'd confided to Yamcha that she and Vegeta barely talked and hadn't been intimate since right before the Cell Game. He'd wanted to point out that that had only been a few months ago, but kept silent. It wasn't what she wanted or needed to hear- it wouldn't help her. And that stupid, traitorous part of his brain had cheered, _You still have a chance! You can still win her back!_ It took a lot of his energy to keep that voice as quiet as possible.

He never formally moved into Capsule Corps, but he might as well have, for all the time he spent there. Panchy had even started calling the guest room he used "Yamcha's place". He left most weekends to make sure no one else ransacked his desert stronghold, though he thought often about moving closer to West City. He would never be comfortable in a city or town, but he reasoned it couldn't hurt to be closer to his friends. …It wouldn't hurt to be closer if Bulma should need him.

There had been many fights with Puar over the situation and after each one, while he was in the process of returning to the woman who no longer loved him, he knew his oldest and dearest friend was right. He was never truly angry with Puar and he always apologized first, but he was beginning to feel the strain between them. He couldn't go on running back and forth between two lives. He was going to have to choose. The sad thing, the worst part, was that there had never been a choice to make. Bulma and Trunks weren't his: the baby never had been. The past months he had simply been continuing to fool himself.

But leaving mother and child wasn't as easy as Puar made it seem. Even if he could never have Bulma back as his girlfriend, as a possible lover, he didn't want to give up his tenuous connection to Trunks. He never let himself forget that the baby wasn't his, but he'd grown attached. He wasn't and would never be the baby's father, but he could be an "uncle". Cool Uncle Yamcha, who always brought him toys and gave him the fatherly advice his shitty, biological dad would be utterly incapable of providing. It was a really great fantasy.

He didn't let himself think about it the rest of the afternoon, but he knew that the sooner he started extricating himself from the Briefs family, the better. Bulma had her parents to help watch Trunks and she was even testing a few robots as nannies for the already noticeably powerful baby. Yamcha wasn't needed. Everyone knew it, but they let him hang around; probably because they felt so bad for him.

Trunks didn't want picked up by anyone once he figured out walking. Anytime someone got their hands on him, he would shove them away and waddle off, seeing how far his little legs would take him before he missed a step and fell back on his behind. He didn't cry when he fell, either- he sat for a few seconds or minutes, then shoved himself upright and headed off in another direction. Yamcha, Bulma and her father followed him everywhere he went, eventually winding up back inside the house. He managed to lose them all at one point, temporarily, but Yamcha was able to track his chi into the kitchen… where it was overshadowed by Vegeta's.

Yamcha knew the Saiyan was in there before he turned a corner and then stepped over the threshold, and he expected the worst, straining to hear any sounds of distress from the baby. But he was surprised by what he saw. Vegeta was standing on the counter at the far end of the kitchen, one leg starting to pull up and away from the small, grasping hand that didn't even reach halfway up the cabinet. Trunks had, apparently, discovered him and somehow managed to corner him. It was one of the funniest things Yamcha had ever seen and only the sight of Vegeta's face held his laughter at bay- it was warped by a combination of annoyance and just a little bit of fear.

"Hi," Yamcha finally said, the word sounding like a gunshot in the silence of the kitchen. Vegeta actually started, but Trunks didn't even look over his shoulder; he just clung to the floor cupboard and reached with all his strength upwards.

He couldn't remember the last time he saw Vegeta, once the Cell Game was over. It was possible the Saiyan had been at Gokuu's memorial, but Yamcha had been pretty focused on Bulma and both Trunks- future and present- to notice or remember. For all the months he'd spent in and out of Capsule Corps, he had not once, before today, run into Vegeta or even glimpsed him at a window or in a hall. The Saiyan had become a ghost… in more ways than being invisible.

Yamcha didn't have to study him for long to see that he looked like crap. He was of the opinion that Vegeta _was_ crap, but the Saiyan didn't usually look so… what was the best word? "Haggard" fit pretty well. Yamcha was reminded of Bulma during her second trimester- the circles under her eyes, the hollowness there. Vegeta didn't look like he'd been sleeping well, if at all. There was a gaunt quality to his face and the Capsule Corps sweats he was wearing didn't fit him, the pants pooling around his bare feet, the shirt hanging off of him. He looked like Gokuu when the heart virus had hit him and for a wild, giddy moment, Yamcha thought Vegeta had caught it, as well.

But it wasn't contagious. Vegeta wasn't sick and he wasn't dying. He just looked… defeated. Depressed. And scared of a baby.

"He, uh, he just learned to walk. Today," Yamcha explained. He was proud of the evenness of his voice, the hesitant but conversational way he spoke.

Vegeta said nothing. He dragged his eyes away from Yamcha and turned his attention back to Trunks. He couldn't really be afraid of the kid- something else had to have surprised or startled him. And the longer Vegeta stood on the counter and away from Trunks, denying _his own son_ any kind of contact, the angrier Yamcha became. Where did he get off snubbing one of the best things to ever happen to someone so unworthy?

"He's not going to hurt you," he muttered, annoyance beating anger to his words. "He just wants to see you. I mean, you're never around. Have you even _met_ him yet?"

Silence followed like an echo. Yamcha snorted and moved forward, arms out to scoop Trunks up and get him away from his prick of a father.

"I don't want to hurt _him_ ," Vegeta rasped. The words came out slow, reluctantly, but were filled with the kind of awe Yamcha had only ever heard from the other man on the battlefield. It was the last thing he expected Vegeta to ever say and it froze him in place until Dr. Briefs appeared, catching Trunks and carrying the protesting baby out of the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not 100% happy with how this played out and ended (like, 95%, which is good, but, y'know), but I could only sit on it and edit for so long before I knew I'd stall out and never finish the entire story. It is the longest chapter yet, which could mean each chapter I manage from here will get longer. Maybe.
> 
> ...Of course, this is the last chapter I have written and it was completed close to a year ago. Damn. Maybe some recognition/praise/criticism? will inspire me to keep this thing going. We'll see!


End file.
